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“I just got my daughter back,” her father said. “Give me some time with her.”
Marcus looked at her, his brow furrowed. “Is that what you want, Cecelia?” he asked.
“Not really,” she said.
“A fortnight?” her father said. “A proper courtship?”
Apparently, her father wanted things done the proper way. Marcus scowled. She asked hesitantly, “Would you mind waiting? Just a fortnight?”
Marcus bit his lips together, but then he said in a big rush, “If it’s what you want.” He threw his hands up in surrender.
“It’s not what I want,” she said quietly. “But I fear it’s what we need.”
Marcus crossed the room to her and took her face in his hands. “I’ll provide for your every need from now on.”
Her father coughed into his closed fist. “I’m still providing for her needs for the next fortnight. But you can court her.”
Marcus grinned. “Courting in this world means rides in the park and dancing at balls.”
She looked up at her father.
He scowled down at her. “It means riding in the park with a chaperone. And dancing at balls with a chaperone.”
“Bloody hell,” Marcus bit out.
Her father laughed. “You’ll survive it, Marcus.”
Marcus nodded. “I’ll do anything for her.”
“I know you will. That’s why I asked.” Her father laughed. And he sounded so much like the man she used to know that she wanted to grant his request.
Nineteen
Cecelia’s father was determined to keep her away from Marcus, and he was doing everything he could to prevent them from spending any time alone. If he knew what they’d done at the cabin in the land of the fae, he wouldn’t be so set on his mission to keep them apart. Or perhaps he would. But he would also feel the need to choke the life from Marcus if he knew, so she supposed this was for the best.
Her father had walked her to her chamber after supper the night before, and she could have sworn she heard him pacing the corridor during the night. She’d never wanted anything more than to hold Marcus in her arms. She wanted to lay her head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. She wanted to feel his skin against hers. She wanted to hold him between her thighs.
“If your face gets any rosier,” Lady Ramsdale chided from across the breakfast table, “we’ll have to douse you with water to cool you off.” She arched a brow at Cecelia. Luckily, they were the only two people in the room. Cecelia had risen early, hoping to see Marcus before anyone else got up. Or rather, before her father rose from bed. No one else seemed to mind the way they pined for one another. But her father had lost time to make up for, she supposed.
“Woolgathering,” Cecelia muttered at Lady Ramsdale.
“Must be some rather warm wool,” Lady Ramsdale shot back.
Cecelia choked on her tea.
“Oh dear, I didn’t mean to make you choke!” Marcus’s mother said.
Cecelia held up her hand. “It’s all right,” she sputtered. “You just surprised me.”
“Darling, I’m not so old that I don’t know what you’re feeling.” She looked at Cecelia over the rim of her teacup. “It certainly won’t hurt Marcus to wait for a fortnight.”
But what if it hurt Cecelia? “Yes, Lady Ramsdale,” she said. “I know.”
“Are you nervous at all about the wedding?” Lady Ramsdale asked.
Cecelia shook her head. “I am not at all anxious about that. I’m more anxious about our life after that.”
“What about it worries you, dear?” Marcus’s mother asked, putting her teacup down.
